The rosy clouds float overhead The sun is going down, And now the Sandman's gentle tread Comes stealing through the town. "White sand, white sand," he softly cries, And as he shakes his hand, Straightway there lies on babies' eyes His gift of shining sand. Blue eyes, black eyes, gray eyes and brown, As shuts the rose, they softly close, when he goes through the town. From sunny beaches far away-- Yes, in another land-- He gathers up at break of day His store of shining sand. No tempests beat that shore remote, No ships may sail that way, His little boat alone may float Within that lovely bay. Blue eyes, gray eyes, black eyes and brown, As shuts the rose, they softly close, when he goes through the town. He smiles to see the eyelids close Above the happy eyes; And every child right well he knows-- Oh, he is very wise! But if, as he goes through the land, A naughty baby cries, His other hand takes dull gray sand To close the wakeful eyes. Blue eyes, gray eyes, black eyes and brown, As shuts the rose, they softly close, when he goes through the town. So when you hear the Sandman's song Sound through the twilight sweet, Be sure you do not keep him long A-waiting on the street. Lie softly down, dear little head, Rest quiet, busy hands, Till, by your bed his good-night said, He strews the shining sands. Blue eyes, gray eyes, black eyes and brown, As shuts the rose, they softly close, when he goes through the town. THE FAIRY FOLK BY ROBERT BIRD Come cuddle close in daddy's coat Beside the fire so bright, And hear about the fairy folk That wander in the night. For when the stars are shining clear And all the world is still, They float across the silver moon From hill to cloudy hill. Their caps of red, their cloaks of green, Are hung with silver bells, And when they're shaken with the wind Their merry ringing swells, And riding on the crimson moth, With black spots on his wings, They guide them down the purple sky With golden bridle rings. They love to visit girls and boys, To see how sweet they sleep, To stand beside their cozy cots And at their faces peep. For in the whole of fairy-land They have no finer sight Than little children sleeping sound With faces rosy bright.